Hoarding Behavior
by Sami-Fire
Summary: Prussia picked up a rather maladaptive habit after moving in with Germany.


"Wouldn't you do the same if you had nothing?"

It's a habit from days long past (as is true of many of his habits), when it was important to keep as many resources as close as possible to survive. He used to be able to hoard territory for himself, but since there isn't any for him to gather anymore, he has taken to hoarding simpler things. First came memories, formless whispers of what he loved, taunting slivers of what he did not have anymore. That bittersweet collection only added to that terrible feeling of having nothing: no supporters, no land, and no _power_, only his room in the basement of the little brother he raised.

Second came trying to gather as many relics of his past as possible, a simple task, for he already had many of his favorite artifacts stored away elsewhere, including that blue coat reserved for only his finest hours and his libraries of diaries. Nevertheless, he wanted those artifacts _here_, with _him_, not stowed away in some place that only Ludwig really knew about. After some prodding, he capitulated and allowed Gilbert to keep the carefully labeled boxes of history stashed in a corner of his room. There he could lay hands on the treasure within for the first time in decades (or in some cases, centuries). Soon, he saw the swords and pictures and papers as nothing more than the ancient skeletons that they were, as lost to the past and as irrelevant to the present as he was. They, too, became another unwanted reminder of what was no longer there.

Third came hoarding items from the present, laying them out in the corner opposite of his past. It started with two panda dolls on April Fool's Day and blossomed into a room-consuming smorgasbord of knickknacks, gewgaws, and widgets, from more plush dolls to comic books to penlights. Any object distinctly from the modern era that caught Gilbert's eye was thrown onto the pile, despite Ludwig's frantic protests against the growing mess. The collection grew till some of it sat on top of the boxes of historical antiques, at which point it stopped being fulfilling and became yet another reminder of the _nothing_, of how the present smothered the glorious past and buried it beyond any chance of recovery.

In an almost desperate attempt to hoard _something_ for himself and only for himself, a stockpile that couldn't possibly become a hint of the persistent _nothing_, he took to hoarding food. Ludwig protested yet again whenever he caught Gilbert raiding the fridge, but Gilbert always got what he wanted in the end. It was a small, petty thing to hoard, but it was _something_. Besides, if he didn't eat what was there, it would go bad, and what a waste that would be.

Now he lies splayed out on his bed, lazily staring at his ceiling with a self-satisfied smirk. It's a good day; all of his somethings are 100% safe in _here_ (his belly, achy and a little bloated, but that's a minor complaint), or _here_ (his little basement room, cluttered but cozy), or _here_ (his heart, still beating strong in his chest, even after all this time). His stomachache worsens and his contentment fades to horror as he slowly realizes that the things he loves most are the intangible memories in his heart, the things closest to the nothing that he dreads so much. No matter how many of these miscellaneous objects he gathers, they will never take him back to his glory days, when he was on top of the world. They are all there to fill a void that can never be filled, rendering all attempts to do so pointless. He can never go back to those days where he had his power. They have become one with the nothing that he has futilely fought against.

Shame reddens his face as he looks at the monstrous piles around him. All the greed and gluttony amounted to nothing more than a ridiculous mess and a sour stomach, both of which were getting more painful by the minute. He hides under his covers, pulling them over his head, curling up and gingerly rubbing his sore and slightly swollen belly. He takes cover from both his current disgrace and the taunting of the nothingness that threatens to invade him once more.

His past self would laugh and call him a fat old fool. Old Fritz would shake his head disapprovingly. The obvious solution would be to let the past go and to enjoy what he had in the present, but that was significantly easier said than done. He had no reason to give up his past when it was all he really had. He was once powerful, capable of conquering all obstacles. No one would dare deny him anything he wanted. He used to be, in a word (his favorite word), _awesome_. A force to be reckoned with. Now he is merely a useless has-been freeloading off his younger brother, commanding no respect whatsoever despite his best attempts to get the world to see things his way, getting sick in both mind and body from disuse, and with only a vast collection of antiques and garbage to keep him company.

He huddles deeper under the blankets, cowering in fear of the nothing that pervades his life. He sheds slow, steaming-hot tears for what he was, what he will never be again, and what he has become. His stomach pains him more sharply, a kick while he's down, a punishment for absurd overindulgence. All he can do in response is elicit a canine-sounding whimper. Not even here, under his covers, can he escape the consequences of his avarice.

Under the covers, all he can see is blackness, nothingness. He doesn't know if it's better or worse than the terrible monument to greed that lurks outside. His new most pressing concern is a way _out_ of this situation, a way to clear his room of the claustrophobia-inducing mountains of trinkets sitting outside his shelter, to erase the buildup and start over again.

Suddenly, at his nadir, he comes up with a brilliant idea. He can escape from the shadow of his excesses. Even though he absolutely will not part with the items from his past, he is more than willing to sell off all the other junk he has accumulated. Once it's all gone, he might end up with quite a pretty penny in earnings. His trademark smirk comes back, and he wipes away those tears. It's the best idea he's had in a very, very long time.

Now it takes all he has to keep from laughing in triumph, for Gilbert Beilschmidt always comes out on top.


End file.
